


Mon Enfant

by EternalFangirl



Series: Henry Plantagenet is Mine Series [5]
Category: Henry V - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works, The Hollow Crown (2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Henry V is right there, Henry VI is born, King in love, and Henry V tells him stories, and he ain't sickly, but isn't that why you read these?, he loves his kid, imagine that for a second, indignant prince, like in the room, not a lot of Henry/Kate sorry, not historically accurate, not manly cooing, the baby distracted me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 01:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7078099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalFangirl/pseuds/EternalFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Henry VI is born, Harry is absolutely certain that he is the prettiest baby in the world, and his mother is the bravest warrior to ever live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mon Enfant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Audlie45](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audlie45/gifts).



> I am still in India, with crappy internet that would have a heart attack if I opened my Tumblr app, but my dear friend Rosa has graciously agreed to post my chapters for me. Even with the horrendously long tag list that she has to individually add each name from. Everybody thank Rosa, and remember, all mistakes are mine, not hers.

Harry would have preferred to be on the battlefield in this moment.

That wasn’t entirely true. No power on God’s green earth could wrench him away from Kate’s suite just now, but he dearly wished there was something he could do. Katherine was in pain, as was evident by the bellowing shrieks emanating from her—their—bedchamber, and there was nothing he could do to make it stop. The baby was coming, and it was all in God’s hands.

He had been praying for the past two hours, but still had never felt so impotent. He had been dragged out of the chambers about an hour ago, but had caught glimpses of his queen since then, whenever the maids ran by for more hot water. The agony on his wife’s face made Henry want to kill someone. He now understood why some nobles hunted while their women gave birth.

He smiled a little as he heard Kate yell at the doctor in French. If the situation were any different, he would have grinned. She had told him that the next time he told her to relax, she would rip out his dick and feed it to him. Harry was insanely proud.

Then the sounds changed, and his wife shouted out for God’s help, and Harry could take it no more. He was the king, and this was his wife. He ignored the ladies trying to stop him, and used sheer size to muscle his way into the room.

Kate was bathed in sweat, and look like death warmed over. Her beautiful, fragrant hair was stuck to her damp face, her pretty eyes too big in her pale face. She looked ethereal. She looked like a warrior in the midst of battle. Henry had this insane surge of guilt, and almost vowed to never do this to her again. He shrugged off the feeling and rushed to her side, ignoring the doctor with his head under her skirts.

“Kate,” he murmured, unsure whether she even knew he was here. “My dear Katherine.” He took her hand.

She turned towards him, her eyes taking a bit of time to recognize him. Her heaving breath stuttered, then continued again. “Harry.” Her voice was a hoarse, breathy moan, and Harry took heart in the fact that she didn’t snarl at him for her current situation. In fact, she seemed happy.

“I’m sorry.”

Impossibly, Kate mustered up a fond smile. Even though it looked more like a grimace, it warmed Harry’s heart. She opened her mouth to speak, but then her face contorted into anguish, and the doctor told her to push.

Standing at his wife’s bedside, watching his child’s birth, Harry vowed never to think of any woman as weak ever again. She was a brave warrior, and definitely not weak in any sense. The vise-like grip she kept on his hand as she pushed was enough to establish that. Harry was sure he could hear the bones in his fingers grind together. So strong was her grip, in fact, that she didn’t even let him go when her ladies crowded in with a wet cloth for her sweaty face. So Harry ended up sponging his wife’s forehead with his left hand, his right crushed and paining, trying bravely not to heed the squelching sounds that came from down under.

Kate’s ladies retreated somewhere in the background, and the doctor’s insistent chanting of _push, Your Majesty_ became background noise. He wasn’t even aware of the nonsensical soothing sounds he was making as his wife valiantly attempted to break his fingers. All of Henry’s senses were filled with his wife, more beautiful and dear to him in this moment than ever before. He loved this sweaty, moaning, swearing woman more than his sedate wife, he decided suddenly. This was the iron core of the mother of his child.

He couldn’t understand what had happened for a while when Kate just collapsed back into bed, her eyes closed, her countenance the very definition of exhaustion. It was only the crying that made it into his muddled mind, signifying it was over. Kate finally let go of his hand, and he was pushed out of the way by concerned ladies-in-waiting.

He looked to the doctor, holding his child. _His child._ He shivered, the enormity of what had just happened crashing on to him. He moved forward in a bit of a daze, drawn to the ugly, squalling mass of wet limbs in the doctor’s arms.

“A son, Your Grace,” said the doctor, as he handed Harry the heir to his kingdom.

Harry had an insane moment of not wanting to hold his son, afraid that he was too big and clumsy, that he would drop the mewling mass of tiny limbs, that he was unworthy of such a prize. Before he could say any of these things, however, the doctor had already placed his son in his arms.

Henry was never letting go.

It was humbling to hold him, to watch him open his big, owlish eyes to look at the world with mild curiosity. His father’s physiognomy must have offended him somehow, for he wailed to the heavens again, making Harry’s ears ring.

“How fares the queen?” he whispered, unable to speak as befit a king. He was afraid he was going to start weeping in a moment.

“She is quite well, my Lord. Her grace did wonderfully.” The doctor was peering in between his wife’s legs again, and this time Harry scowled at him, childishly feeling proprietary.

He walked over to the head of the bed, feeling tears gather in his eyes. He didn’t think he could be happier if he tried. He was a father. It still boggled his mind, even though he had known it for months.

“Kate,” he whispered, loath to disturb his drowsing wife. “Would you like to meet our son?”

“ _Un garçon?_ ” Kate murmured, her eyes still closed. “ _Est-il un garçon?_ ”

“ _Oui,_ ” said Harry, gently laying the boy down on her swollen breasts. “ _Il souhaite vous saluer._ ”

When Kate looked at the baby in her arms, she wept as Harry wished to. The baby was a healthy pink colour, with a good pair of lungs on him. He favoured his mother with a smile and snuggled into the blanket he was swaddled in, overly tired from the exertions of coming into this world. In a blink he was fast asleep, uncaring that both his parents were individually in love with him.

* * *

Harry freely admitted that he was stupid in love with the newborn over the next few weeks.

He had a sudden urge to coo like someone’s elderly aunt the first time he saw his son in a biggin, his tiny swaddling blanket warm and soft against Harry’s wrist. Matters of state seemed boring and dull for once, for he had won the latest battle against the Dauphin, and the obnoxious Frenchman had lost his teeth. All he wanted was to finish his day and go to his wife and son, the little Henry’s chubby hands grabbing his fingers in a surprisingly strong grip. The kingdom was rejoicing the birth of it’s heir, and the king was on cloud nine.

Harry was used to ignoring the scandalous whispers that followed him when he strode down the hallway to the queen’s chambers. The entire court knew she was lying in, and Harry knew it was unheard of for a man to make daily visits to his wife and babe during such a time. But he was helpless, drawn to them in a way he couldn’t explain. All he knew was he loved to see his little royal family, even though his Uncle Exeter loved to make fun of the look in his eyes every time someone mentioned the royal baby.

He slipped into the bedchambers as soon as Kate’s lady opened it, dismissing her as always. He didn’t want witnesses to his sappy cooing, and he wanted to forget the worries of the day, the weight of the crown on his head. He wanted to be just a man, indulging himself in the simple pleasure of having a loving wife and a child of his own.

“ _Mon Roi?_ ” said Kate drowsily, a slender hand stretched to him from the bed where she lay. “Nous attendons pour vous.” Her smile was unlike the ones that he saw in court from time to time, all teeth and no warmth. Kate’s smile was that of a happy woman, with neither calculation nor seduction in her gaze. She was simply happy to see him, and Harry wished he could be on the receiving end of that smile for many years to come.

Before he could say a word, the recently baptized Prince of Wales gurgled from where he was securely tucked into his mother’s side, summoning his father. Harry drew near, and knelt on the cold stone floor next to the bed to see his son in the eye. “So demanding,” he muttered playfully. “You will be a handful, won’t you?”

“He will be like his father,” said Kate, her mouth next to his ear, her breath raising goosebumps on his skin.

Harry shivered, and leant into the chaste touch of his wife. “I have missed you,” he said, as if whispering a great secret.

He could feel Katherine’s smirk against his jaw. “I know, my lord,” she said, and then her mouth was on his.

Harry sank into the kiss with soft familiarity. He was dimly aware that Kate would be uncomfortable with this position, so he got off his knees and crawled into bed, never breaking the kiss. Katherine made a hungry noise and shifted back, giving him space. Harry chased after her mouth with his tongue, unwilling to let go.

Alas, the prince was understandably angry at this unsolicited breach of his own personal space.

The wails of the young prince were enough to spoil the mood. He looked indignantly at his father, and it was an impressive look even at his tender age. His fists shook a little as if in righteous fury, and little Henry Plantagenet took an almighty hold of the king’s beard at a whim, trying to win a few dark hairs in this new game.

Kate laughed as Harry made himself more comfortable in the bed. “He wants a kiss from his papa too.”

“Well then,” said Harry, unceremoniously dropping a boot by the bed. He leant over and kissed his son’s fuzzy little head, the hairs there shorter than the ones in his beard. “Are you satisfied, little Prince? Or would you like me to lick your head?”

Kate giggled. “He has been sleeping all day,” she said. “For now he knows his papa comes to visit in the evenings.” She waited as Harry finally settled into her bed. “How was court?”

“It was one of the boring days today,” confided Harry, one idle finger trailing down Henry’s little spine in a consoling gesture. “Boring, but tedious. A couple of my nobles were squabbling, and needed to be reminded they were not children. There has been a fire in one of the outlying villages, and relief for the homeless had to be managed. And taxes. There were rolls upon rolls of parchment, telling me who paid how much in taxes. Nothing exciting. Like I said, boring.”

Kate hummed in agreement, one hand sneaking around their son’s head to grab his own, at repose on his stomach. “Apparently so,” she said with a smile in her voice. “You bored your son to sleep.”

Harry laughed quietly, the quiet eheheh an exhalation against her skin.

And so they talked, the king and the queen, of trivial matters and grave ones. They talked of the new forces the queen’s brother was rallying across the waters, of their son’s penchant for gripping hair, of the uncanny resemblance of one of the nobles with a toad.

When Henry awoke, Harry almost called for the wet nurse before Kate told him she would feed their son herself. There was a hushed quiet as she sat and fed the future king of England, the soft, flickering light of the fire teasing out the shadows in her face. She tipped her head back, and Harry watched, transfixed, as Kate smiled serenely. He felt a beautiful emotion bubbling in his chest, a physical presence he could not name, and tried valiantly not to cry. His woman, his child. His world.

Harry took the baby once he was fed, pacing in slow, measured steps around the room. He didn’t know when he started the little rocking motions, but soon he was swaying from side to side with every step. A few minutes later, he was whispering to his son, telling him all about the beautiful kingdom he would inherit with its rich history and noble people. He told the prince of a time long past, of dragons and magic, surprising himself—he had never heard such stories himself. He spun tales till his voice was hoarse from all the whispering, till the Prince had stopped fussing and was sleeping peacefully against his father’s shoulder.

Harry walked to the elaborate cradle set up at the foot of the bed, taking care to wrap his son properly in his swaddling clothes before placing him in it. The little prince sniffled, offended by the change, but soon settled back into deep slumber.

When Harry looked to the queen, she was asleep too, her hand outstretched for him to take. He smiled, and slipped into bed beside her. He would leave in the morning.


End file.
